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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978600">Paint Me a Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spare_Parts_Bud/pseuds/Spare_Parts_Bud'>Spare_Parts_Bud</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Punisher (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Love them, alternating pov, castle family (mentioned), karen paints, kastle - Freeform, post tps2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spare_Parts_Bud/pseuds/Spare_Parts_Bud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The anniversary of his family's death was last week and Frank feels it weighing down on him so he goes to Karen.</p>
<p>Karen is painting to help her process her feelings, she's pleasantly surprised when Frank shows up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Castle &amp; Karen Page, Frank Castle/Karen Page, frank castle and</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paint Me a Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Frank made his way through Hell’s Kitchen, enjoying the rare pleasant August day. The oppressive humidity had finally lifted and there was a cool breeze that followed him as he turned the corner to his destination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took the stairs up to the third floor and hesitated outside of the door. Frank had been in near isolation the past week, the anniversary of his family’s death weighing him down, making it impossible to fully function. There were a few men that were punished but outside of that, he had barely managed to eat or sleep. Then today, he felt like he couldn’t bear to be alone, which was odd considering he usually thrived in isolation. Or so he told himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So here he was, outside of her door. He hadn’t really had a direction when he left his apartment but it seems like his body always brings him here when he is most lost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not giving himself the chance to second guess, Frank knocked on the door before burying his hands in his pockets and waiting. There were a few shuffling sounds from inside, a loud clunk followed by a curse and then suddenly she was before him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Karen.” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beautiful surprised smile greeted him. Karen was always happy to see him, which he will never really understand. He always brought so much bullshit into her life, danger, pain, his endless baggage, but it never phased her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked beautiful, hair braided over one shoulder and what appeared to be paint smeared on her forehead. An old flannel shirt hung loosely on her slight frame and light jeans encased her legs, the thighs covered in smears of different colored paints.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank had never seen her look so casual and disheveled and it found it incredibly endearing. Dragging his eyes back to hers, he smirked. “You, uh, doing arts and crafts ma'am?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen looked down at herself and then back to Frank sheepishly but the smile never left her lips, “Something like that. Come on in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart was still fluttering. She hadn’t seen Frank in a few weeks and honestly hadn’t expected to see him anytime soon. The anniversary was last week and she figured he would be holed up, processing his grief the only way Frank seems to know anymore. Alone and angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen had spent most of her week thinking about the Castle family. It felt strange, mourning a family she had never known and yet she found herself in periods of melancholy, anger and sadness. She found herself looking over their file, the same one her and Frank had poured over to find all the facts and was surprised to feel tears on her face when she finally closed it. Karen wasn’t sure if her tears were for the ones gone too soon or for the man left behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all started to become too much and she felt herself spiraling to a point she knew would lead to far too much drinking so she pulled out a canvas and her brushes and set to work on distracting her mind. It was a habit she picked up when her mom got sick, when she felt like she was losing control, Karen would paint. The subject matter varied but it usually revolved around the object of her feelings, it was a way to process and feel while not becoming overwhelmed by it. There had been so many paintings of Kevin she lost count. She always painted over those, unable to bear looking at them for long. She hardly had time for it anymore but things had been a little slow at Nelson, Murdock and Page so she took the time to just feel. Hoping that once she finished the piece she might have some peace of mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beer?” she asked as she watched him wander into her space. He gave a small nod, leaning on her island. His shoulders sagged and she could tell he was trying to keep things light but his grief hung around him like a shroud. She handed him a bottle, watching him carefully as she did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a long drink and held her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you?” The question was quiet, she didn’t want to pry but she didn’t want him suffering alone either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes fell away, staring intently at the bottle in front of him. He didn’t say anything for several moments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen suspected she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him and had accepted the companionable silence, sipping at her own drink while he was lost in his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not getting any easier.” His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper but it still startled her a bit. Her heart gave a sharp twinge when he finally looked at her again. The pain in those dark eyes nearly stole her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Each year I think it will be a little easier, like maybe if I put enough of those shitbags in the ground it will hurt less when that day comes. Usually it gets me through, it’s my penance for not protecting them. Each new rapist or murderer that I bury is one more innocent person that won’t suffer. But each year, that day comes around and they are still gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank sees the tears gathering in her eyes and it makes his heart lurch. He feels like he should be crying but over the past week he has run out of tears. She would just have to do it for the both of them he supposed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry Frank. I wish things were different.” She said softly. There were no assurances in what she said but it still helped. She never tried to give him false hope, only offered her support, there for him to lean on when his grief tried to crush him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearing his throat, Frank straightened. “Yeah, me too. Enough of all that, though. I didn’t come here to bring your night down. What is it that Picasso is working on over here that has her such a mess?” He turned to her easel making his way around it. She had it facing the window to catch more natural light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen broke a quick smile but it disappeared when she remembered what she had been painting. Setting her beer down a little too quickly, she hurried around the island, “Actually, Frank I uh…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too late. Frank went utterly still as he took in the painting. He wasn’t sure how to describe what he was feeling, all he knew was that his family was smiling up at him from the canvas, his own face pressed against Maria’s dark hair while she laughed. It looked vaguely like a picture he remembered of Maria and the kids but he hadn’t been in it, gone on one of his deployments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at it for a few moments before he finally turned to Karen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole, "It uh...helps me process my...feelings, I guess. When I feel overwhelmed I paint what's on my mind and it helps me think about it without ...you know...getting hammered."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank continued to split his unreadable gaze between her and the painting where the faces of his family smiled back at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he still didn't say anything Karen began to wring her hands nervously, shifting a bit on her feet. She felt like she had overstepped some boundary between her and Frank and trampled somewhere sacred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's just that...I’ve been thinking about them lately, you know?" She was babbling, she knew that but couldn't seem to stop, not with those deep soulful eyes on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thinking about where they might be, what you all would be doing." Karen felt her eyes burning and tried her best to will the tears away but the injustice of the Castle family always made her heart bleed. So, unbidden, she felt them running hotly down her cheeks. "Thinking about how unfair and how unbelievably cruel it all is."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank looked down at his feet and she saw the scrunch of his nose that indicated he was trying to hold back emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably disgust, she thought, he was trying to think of a way to tell her she had gone too far and was figuring out how to leave her behind. Forget this tentative thing they had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen quickly wiped the tears from her face and sniffled quietly before straightening her shoulders. "I'm sorry Frank, I overstepped. I'll get rid of this, it wasn't my place."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had to step past him and could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. It burned her skin like a livewire and Karen tried not to flinch as she went past. She moved to reach for the painting, intent on doing anything to rectify the situation. Her fingers barely brushed the canvas before she was jerked around and crushed to Frank's chest, his forehead pressed to hers as his breath shuddered lightly across her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything, just held her in place as he gently swayed. He wanted to tell her how beautiful the picture was, how much it meant to him that she took the time to create something that showed his family as he saw them. At least, how he prefers to see them, when the nightmares aren’t poisoning his memories. Every time he tries to say any of those things though, he chokes, emotion thick in his throat and trapping the words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen still wasn’t sure where they stood but he hadn’t pushed her away which told her maybe she hadn’t burned the bridge between them. The bridge built on trust, companionship, and deep longing. Tentatively she laid her hand on his bicep, giving a light squeeze. She may not know where they stood at the moment but she knew when Frank was overwhelmed and she knew that touch grounded him, pulled him out of the swirling of his thoughts long enough to gain his bearings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, so quiet she felt it more than heard it, Frank breathed a soft ‘thank you’ against her cheek, a large warm hand coming to rest on the side of her neck. The relief that flooded her made her knees weak but Karen managed to stay on her feet, giving his arm another squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to thank me for anything Frank.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed, breaking the spell a bit and leaned back to look at her dryly. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” His tone softened, his eyes scanning over her face with a tenderness that stole her breath and made her heart ache. “I got more to thank you for than I’ll ever be able to name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was her turn to lose her voice, trying not to let more tears fall Karen looked down at the ground and took a few steadying breaths. When she was sure she wouldn’t turn into a sobbing mess she looked at him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think considering how many times you’ve saved my life, I’m probably still behind on thanks that are owed.” Her voice was quiet but earnest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank shook his head and looked like he was about to argue so she set her hand on his cheek gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about this, since we can and would argue about it all night, we just call it even?” She smiled sweetly at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank watched her for another few seconds, deciding how difficult he wanted to be before the corner of his mouth tipped into a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright. We’ll call it even for now.” he said, absently letting his thumb glide over her jaw. He felt a small tremor go through her and when he looked at her eyes, he felt a tremor of his own. Frank dropped his hand quickly like it had been burned. It felt too good to have his hands on her, something he couldn’t indulge in because then he may not ever let go. By the look in her eyes, she may not want him to and that terrified him even more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt guilty for pawing at her and then drawing back just as quickly but Karen seemed to expect it, running light fingers down his cheek, a bittersweet smile still in place before she took a half step back from him and dropped her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank cleared his throat and couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye so he turned back to the painting, the tension in his chest seeming to release at the sight of his family. There were unfinished bits, details that she had not gotten to yet and Frank desperately wanted to see the picture finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You uh, were still working on this when I got here?” he asked, needlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen watched Frank carefully for a second, she could still feel his calloused thumb along her jaw where he lost himself for a moment. He would never know how much restraint it took to keep herself from turning into that hand or launching herself at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She kept her voice quiet, afraid he might spook if she spoke too loudly or made any sudden moves. As tough and scary as he could be, Karen knew when Frank was feeling flighty. “Yeah, I was going to try and finish it tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, taking his eyes from the canvas to glance at her a couple of times before settling on the picture and she could tell he was building up to something in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you mind if I stayed? Watched you finish it?” he sounded unsure, like maybe he was the one treading into territory he shouldn’t now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without hesitation, Karen picked up the beer he had abandoned on her coffee table and pressed it firmly into his palm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She made sure he was looking at her so there would be no confusion on his part, “Of course you can stay Frank. I never mind when you are here, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> you here, evidenced by the fact that I have invited you over frequently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sheepish smile quirked his lips but he didn’t say anything, just rounded the coffee table so he could sit on the arm of the couch to watch her work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen tried not to feel self conscious, she hadn’t had anyone watch her paint in a really long time and nothing as high stakes or important as she felt this picture now was. But she took a deep breath and picked up her brush and started where she had left off, filling in Jr.’s dimples.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fell back into rhythm pretty quickly and for a moment forgot that Frank was behind her so it startled her a bit when he spoke up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When he was 3, he noticed that he had dimples for the first time and cried for hours because he thought something was wrong. That he was going to start getting little dimples all over the place.” Frank’s voice was low, deep and reverent as it often was when he shared little snippets about his family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen let out a little involuntary laugh, it sounded a bit like a soft sob but if Frank noticed he didn’t say anything, just continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It took his mother and I all day to convince him that he was fine and one day would be able to use those dimples as a weapon. He didn’t really understand at the time but as he got older and pretty waitresses and other women would gush over them, he started to appreciate it more and more.” The chuckle that escaped him was so fond and full of love that Karen had to feign putting more paint on the brush so he didn’t see her hands shake with emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Flashing smiles at every pretty lady, every chance he got, huh?” She was proud of how strong her voice was, laughter lacing the words instead of tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, he never missed an opportunity.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They lapsed into a comfortable silence, just the sound of brushes on canvas and the occasional drink from a beer bottle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Karen moved to make the finishing touches on Lisa’s hair, Frank recounted the story of when she cut almost all of her hair off when Maria wasn’t looking. Her reasoning was that she was going to ride Pterodactyls and her long hair would get in the way. Karen broke out into a giggling fit, imagining that scene unfolding. He was on a deployment at the time but he said he could still hear the exasperation in Maria’s voice when they talked a few days later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She didn’t appreciate me laughing, that’s for sure. She was laughing about it too but I could tell she was still upset, she loved Lisa’s hair.” He couldn’t help but laugh as well as Karen kept chortling while she worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is how the evening went, Frank recounting numerous memories of his family, some happy and playful, others bittersweet and painful. Occasionally he would go to the kitchen and get them each a new beer or stand close and watch her add colors and details with practiced ease. Karen, for her part, mostly just listened as she worked, throwing a comment in here and there. Laughing when he did, crying when he couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was nearly 2 a.m. when she set the brush down with a decisive click and took a few steps back to survey her work. She had stepped close enough to the couch that Frank had sunk into about an hour ago that he was able to grab her hand and pull her down next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen was picking the piece apart in her mind, as she always did when she finished a painting, but her mind went blank when he settled a warm arm over her shoulders pulling her impossibly closer and pressing a tender kiss to the side of her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s really beautiful Karen.” His voice was full of gravel but still managed to be so soft. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned to him with a watery smile, “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Once it’s dry you can take it home if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was shocked at first, that she would so easily give him the culmination of her hard work but it wore off quickly. Of course she wanted to give him the painting of his family. Karen had been giving him his family back since the day she stormed into his hospital room and shoved a picture into his face. It shouldn’t be surprising that she would do it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank found himself just staring at her, wondering how he could be here and how he could possibly deserve this kind of reprieve. But it was here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>was here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned in and softly kissed her before he realized he was moving. Karen tensed for only a second before she melted into the easy press of his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t sexual per se, there was no doubt a lot of sexual tension between them, but this kiss was more a summation of the inevitability of their feelings. It was slow and drugging and outlined every ounce of affection, trust and love they felt for one another, even if they couldn’t simply say it out loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to rest his forehead to hers and let her tangle her fingers with his where they were still slung over her shoulder. Eventually they turned back to the painting, both lost in their own thoughts as they took in the details. Karen was happy that her coping mechanism had been an outlet for Frank, giving him a chance to talk about his family in a way that wasn’t forced. Frank just let the memories wash over him and for the first time that week they didn’t feel like a burden. It still hurt, he didn’t think he would ever be able to think of them and not feel the aching void where they should be but it wasn’t a crippling pain in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They would need to talk about the kiss at some point, that had been a step that, while inevitable, had not been taken yet but for now they were content to just be together. They ended up dozing there on the couch until morning. That led to breakfast, a walk, lunch, a movie in her apartment and dinner and before either of them knew it, it was the end of the weekend, Frank having stayed three days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he did leave Sunday evening it was after another slow kiss, one that turned a bit more heated, fraying at the edges into something with a bit more intent and promise, and the painting was carefully wrapped and tucked under his arm. Karen waved from the door as he disappeared down the stairs feeling more complete than he had in quite some time. It felt wrong to be walking away from her and he tried not to let the loneliness seep into his bones already. He tried to ignore the look on her face that all but screamed she didn’t want him to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever this was that was developing between then, and had been for a while, had come to a head and they both needed to take some time to process. It would do him good to go back to his apartment and have some distance to think about things. Thinking logically about his relationship with Karen Page was hard enough, doing it when she was near, laughing, yelling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span>, made it so much more difficult. He was still a dangerous person to be around, still put people in the ground and made enemies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Karen was strong. She had no shortage of her own enemies and knew how to take care of herself. It could be the last mistake you ever make to underestimate Karen Page. So maybe, just maybe, they could stop dancing around what was happening between them and just let it happen. See where it leads. Then again...if something were to happen to her because of him punishing…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank shook his head as he rounded a corner, now only a few blocks from his own apartment, he was already talking himself in circles again. The humidity had returned to the city with a vengeance and he could feel his shirt sticking to him, even with the relatively short walk. Maybe it was an omen, the weather was beautiful when he arrived at Karen’s door. Now, as he returns to his own apartment, the air feels more and more oppressive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even so, he felt lighter, like sharing those precious memories of his family lifted the weight of grief from his chest, if even for a little while. He knew it would be back, his penance would continue and he would take his rage to the streets. But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have to be his whole life now. The functional apartment in which he was now standing seemed drab but he gingerly unwrapped  the painting and hung it in a place where he could see it from nearly all parts of the studio and it gave the place a bit more life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a quick shower, Frank found himself in bed, staring at the painting where it hung on his wall. His eyes followed every line of their faces, memorizing it like he had the picture he kept on his bedside table. He felt himself drifting off, the smiles of his family easing him into sleep and the knowledge that Karen cared enough about his family to immortalize them in such a way warming him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His bed was only marginally more comfortable than Karen’s couch but Frank realized in his semi-conscious state that he would gladly cram himself onto that couch every night to witness her bedhead in the morning. He hadn’t fallen asleep so fast in quite some time and it was a dreamless sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that weekend, the visits were more frequent and seemed to last longer and longer until one day, a year later, Frank realized most of his things were in Karen’s apartment, including his beloved painting. He definitely wasn’t one to be poetic but, as he sat on the couch, outlining the faces of his family with his gaze once again, it occurred to him that Karen had painted him a memory of his family and somehow it had broken down those last barriers he had and allowed him to make more memories...with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now Frank sat and watched her paint a new picture. This time, she was the one reminiscing and sharing memories. He watched her laugh and cry, held her when it got to be too much. She said his name was Kevin and when the painting was finished, it hung right next to his family. It became a gallery of loss but also a place for the ones left behind to remember. And they did but they also made new memories, together.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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